


Double Time

by freakylemurcat



Series: A Truce with Benefits [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Cuckolding, Double Penetration, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Obedience, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unrequited Lust, Valve Play (Transformers), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 07:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: Not that anyone would ever dare ask, but if they did then Soundwave would thoroughly deny jealousy. Because he wasn't jealous. At all. He'd never woken from a broken recharge with fragmented images of what that black and white menace might look like with a spike in his intake.Never.Luckily, there are mechs out there a little less deep in denial and a little more inclined to share.





	Double Time

Someone had sabotaged Soundwave's communications relays. When he found out who the culprit was there were going to be _ consequences _ \- mostly his servo wrapped around their miserable throat. 

He stood at his station, air grim, and surveyed the alert lists as messages cleared the newly updated filters and the numbers climbed. 

His duties had adapted since the truce. No longer was he a wire-tapper, a hacker, and a spy, but a diplomat and, as it felt right now, a secretary.

If Prime and Lord Megatron could have kept their flirting to their own private messages, Soundwave would find this a much more tolerable task. His profanity filters would be less clogged for a start.

He had had to make it abundantly clear his communication system was not for 'sexting'.

Now the messages here were more for public viewing than the datapads they couriered back and forth with the increasingly harried looking Autobot Jazz. _ He _ had arrived not two joors ago with a new datapad and a troubled expression and had been secreted in Megatron's quarters since. 

This had not improved Soundwave's assessment of the situation. Not that anyone would ever dare ask, but if they did then Soundwave would thoroughly deny jealousy. Because he wasn't jealous. At all. He'd never woken from a broken recharge with fragmented images of what that black and white menace might look like with a spike in his intake. 

Never. 

Regardless - insult to injury -Soundwave had to stay here in the dripping, damp command centre and repair coding while someone else got their spike wet. His mood deteriorated further at the thought. 

The nearest Decepticons shuffled away, cringing and grovelling at their failure to prevent the ravaging of his carefully managed comms. They weren't even worth a dismissive hand gesture, and Soundwave ignored their exit in favour of tracing the damage back to the entry point. 

If it had occurred to any other system Soundwave would have considered it a work of art; a masterpiece in nasty little picks and hacks to the delicate areas where everything would unravel with the minimum of effort. Soundwave would still like to strangle the wretch, but he also rather admired the creative mischief that had done this. Nothing was permanently destroyed, only a few physical components were overheated, and Soundwave had enough backups for an easy fix. 

Solving this little mystery was diversion enough from the envy in his spark that Jazz still hadn't come out of Lord Megatron's quarters. The last few times had been a joor and out, limping and smelling of the sweet, hot ozone of interface, but now his chronometer told him three joors were fast approaching. Perhaps Megatron intended to keep the saboteur this time? But given the contents of his last messages to the Prime, Soundwave doubted that Jazz was little more than a pleasant stopgap until his master could get back to some divinely appointed interface equipment. 

Certainly even Prime's _ open _ messages indicated he remained keen for his bit of rough...

Some mecha had all the luck, thought Soundwave morosely. 

Even closing in on the culprit to his sabotage didn't cheer him much, until the last few threads of disguise were unweaved and Soundwave found himself with a message his nemesis had left especially for him. 

The code was short, sweet and_ utterly filthy _. Soundwave read it once and then again swiftly in disbelief. The closest Decepticons in the command centre were at the door as guards, but still he hunched protectively over the screen as he read it a third time. 

Utter, sick twisted filth, inviting Soundwave to have his way with a happy victim should he want to and signed with a cheeky little glyph - "Jazz".

Now Soundwave had known the mech had a way with song, and rhythm, but he hadn't realised he also had a way with words... 

Maybe it was just Soundwave's own lust that drove it, but he felt like the images implanted from the message would find a new place of pride in his fantasies. The suggestion alone that Jazz would like to be bent over and fragged across the nearest flat surface, maybe this very console Soundwave was still hunched over... 

Soundwave's fists clenched. The mech in question was a floor and two corridors away, probably writhing helplessly under his commander right at this very moment. It was nearly intolerable.

His processors ran hard. He would have to clear his path someway, lure Megatron away for a while and free up some of Jazz' time and attention for Soundwave to monopolize him instead. 

The direct approach was the most sensible. 

* * *

No one answered Soundwave's press of the doorbell, but this was not surprising. The amalgamation of pleasure in the fields of the mechs inside had spread out into the corridor, turning the air into a miasma that would turn a weaker mech's helm. Soundwave glared at a few lurking Vehicons until they scurried away and then tapped into the switch panel and let himself in. 

An urgent errand, he told himself, and theoretically it was only partially a lie. 

The datapad Jazz had brought was abandoned on a desktop. Soundwave surveyed it dispassionately - he didn't care to know that someone had taught Prime to use emoticons, nor that his lord and master evidently understood them - and then moved silently onward

Lord Megatron was hunched over a form on the berth, broad back curved down and narrow hips working hard against a pert, wide aft. The room stank of ozone and lubricant and oil, the musk of fuel burning and hot air. 

The noise... Soundwave had to pause and centre himself. The roar and rumble of Megatron's huge mining engines harmonised with the squeal of a high powered racing engine, not the discordant wail of a jet engine in full throes for once. There was the clatter and clang of armour colliding and shuddering, and the soft wet noise of lubricant. Best of all was the pretty yelps and squeals of the mech that Soundwave's commander was fragging so completely, 

Soundwave _ wanted _ and so he would get it. 

"Lord Megatron," he intoned as if he had walked into an office and not into the contents of a hardcore holovid. Neither of the participants entwined on the berth-top seemed particularly interested in his arrival, but he would not be put off. "A message from the Prime for you."

"Can it not wait?" growled Megatron, his pace ceased and his spike buried to the hilt in the Autobot's frame. Jazz tossed his helm back and made a low noise like he was being ripped apart at the seams. This seemed like a fair response, given their comparative sizes and the fact Megatron apparently had been _ fragging him up the aft port _. 

All the more reason for Soundwave to free him up for some _proper_ interface instead.

Soundwave squared his shoulders and nodded impassively, not fooled by his master's apparent poor mood; there was a dark glint in his optics and a keenness to his field that was only partially due to the Autobot currently writhing against him. Megatron always listened to him as a trusted Lieutenant. "The Prime was insistent, sir."

With a decisive grunt, Megatron pinned the hissing and aggravated Jazz to the berth top and withdrew his spike from his port. Soundwave considered himself lucky he had no visible optics to avert at the sight - instead he eyed the slick mess of the mech's interface array greedily. If he were to not get a chance to interface the mech himself, at least he would have image captures to accompany his fantasies. 

Megatron took a moment to calm himself, crush his lustful field back into silence and depressurise his spike. It was an impressive display of self control -one Soundwave was not convinced he would manage with Jazz' shiny frame laying on his berth, thighs akimbo to relieve his battered aft port, vents hissing with steam and complaining about being abandoned. 

For all that Soundwave knew his master well, so did Megatron recognise many of his own quiet tells. A big servo clasped Soundwave's straight shoulder in passing, and a wicked smile rested on his master's lip plates. 

"Keep him warm for me, Soundwave. That one needs a lot of attention."

This Soundwave did not doubt. 

He remained a still and silent sentry until the door hissed and clicked in the lock, and then a few moments more for caution’s sake. Only whenever the only field he could sense was Jazz, boiling angry lust cooling to a simmer, did Soundwave brave pacing forward. 

Jazz was sprawled half on his belly, upper frame twisted to avoid crushing his own chest into the sheets, and his vents whistled with the speed of his air intake, and his frame shuddered intermittently. He seemed disgruntled at being ridden so hard and left so abruptly but Soundwave could sense no fear or disgust or shame.

Slowly, as not to aggravate any latent aggression from this beautiful deadly mech, he crept up onto the berth on his knees, initially kneeling and then moving forward to lean on his servos as well. Jazz' visor also obscured his optics, but Soundwave felt the moment the mech's gaze slithered up the arm by his head and turned to meet his own. 

"Query: Autobot Jazz finds this acceptable?" He questioned, suddenly acutely aware that if it were not he was in the ideal position to get a blade through his cassette-deck and into his spark. No doubt Jazz had a few secreted about his frame. "I received your message.."

"Mech, if it weren't, I'd make sure ya knew." Jazz wriggled - sensuously, elegantly - and somehow managed to twist in the little space Soundwave had left him to lie on his back instead. He cocked his helm and reached up to palm the plate glass of Soundwave’s chest, servos slithering downward to grasp his hips. There were buttons and switches there, normally extraneous detailing in this form which was suddenly acutely sensitive to those nimble digits. "How about Decepticon Soundwave? He findin' this acceptable?"

"Affirmative," said Soundwave, finding his tone harder to regulate. Suddenly there was a leg curled around the side of his pelvis, pulling him down so his array plate connected with the heat of an uncovered array. Even through his heavy armour he could sense the buzz of charge, and Jazz' EM field burnt with fresh pleasure at his weight on sensitive protoform. "Attempts to seduce noted."

Jazz tsk'd. "I've been attemptin' seduction for orns now; this is closer to desperation." He writhed the smooth curves of his frame up against Soundwave's boxy chest. "I'm gonna start gettin' cold soon, ya know." 

It would be a waste of a warm, keen frame Soundwave thought, and be against Lord Megatron's orders, to let Jazz cool off. His panels popped almost silently, his spike driven to pressurise from the rich chemical tang of lubricant and the sight of his erstwhile enemy writhing keenly for his attention. 

Beneath him, Jazz wriggled again, field lighting up with wicked glee. Soundwave was being played, he was well aware, had been worked into a corner by this devious maestro and he had no regrets. His spike rutted against the soft folds of mesh, slickening in the extra lubricant dripping from his valve and the wet remnants of the oil Megatron had used on that poor ruined aft port. 

Taboo was all well and good but Soundwave was a _ traditionalist _ at spark. 

His spike sunk right into that sweet, sopping valve, a long hard stroke that hammered the tip hard into a cluster of nodes high at the top. Jazz toppled his helm back and moaned, deep and vibrant, the harmonies almost as delicious as the clutch around Soundwave's spike. 

"Mmmm, I knew you would frag like a champion," sighed Jazz. 

"Soundwave: superior," he intoned reflexively, and ground deeper in to fully access the bundle of nodes. Jazz' groan hiccupped up the register a few pitches and his servos flew to clutch at Soundwave's back. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Jazz, "Just hurry up and _ fuck _ me, yeah?" 

The word was the cheap, filthy organic version, but Soundwave did not have much hope of disobedience. 

"Lord Megatron will be occupied with your Prime for a while," he said, thrusting deep again in the hope of gaining another groan. "We have time." 

His fantasies of Jazz had always been amongst his favourites, and yet somehow barely matched the sweetness of actually fragging the mech. Reality seemed closer to heaven - the strong thighs around his hips drew each thrust in and permitted every draw back, visor bright electric blue and straining for a glimpse of Soundwave's spike plunging between white thighs. Delightfully, he gasped and moaned -a noisy frag like he had always been regardless of the other particulars in Soundwave's processors. 

He hitched in harder, putting the whole length of his spike to full use. Every thrust in targeted directly to the high bundles of sensors, and every time he got a bullseye and another moan or yowl. They worked like a well-oiled machine, hitching themselves together until Soundwave's blue paint was smeared with black and white transfers and there wasn't a seam or joint that hadn't been stroked and groped. In turn he petted the curve of a bumper, squeezed his digits around a firm bouncy tyre until Jazz squeaked and overloaded with a shower of sparks. 

Charge fled the nodes in his valve, discharging across to Soundwave's thrusting spike as his own biosensors clipped across. The sharp little jolts were added delight to the already delicious sensation, a compliment to the comfortable plush hold even as it squeezed and dragged at him in climax, and his self control unravelled somewhat. He tucked his face against the crux of the Autobot's slender neck and broad shoulder and fragged him hard, no concern for aim but just to bury himself deep. Climax built in measurable jolts until finally his charge blew out in a shocking sweep and he overloaded in Jazz' valve, spilling thick mineral rich transfluids as deep as he could reach. 

For a while he kept his helm tucked down and his body tight against Jazz', but a sharp rap to the back of his thigh encouraged him to give the mech a little space. Jazz engine was giving little hiccups - jumping through gears - and one of his hip speakers was pulsing a static tune in beat with the spin of his spark. Soundwave's own speakers were hissing in sympathy to his energy output, the true sign of a good clinch in his experience. 

"Ok," said Jazz, vocaliser alight with sharp little arpeggios. "Soundwave superior indeed. Your reward is getting to do that again once I've upgraded my surge protectors." 

"Acceptable." 

Moving off the overheated frame beneath him proved difficult. Soundwave locked his elbows in position but could bring himself to do little more - Jazz seemed even more loathe to shift, and sprawled comfortably with his legs akimbo, unbothered by Soundwave's spike still buried in his valve. His calipers flexed and released comfortably in slow waves along the intruder, driving little spikes of charge into Soundwave's protoform. 

It had been out of character to be so keen, and then so rough and self-serving. Soundwave wondered briefly if he should apologise, but the Autobot lazed below him, field brimming in satisfaction, amusement and dark curling twinge of... Anticipation? 

Soundwave cocked his helm, curious as if he was reading it correctly, when from behind came the slow hiss of a big mech shifting hydraulics. 

Lord Megatron loomed over them, huge and implacable, like a neutron star. His expression was impassive, but his servos clenched and released compulsively like he yearned to seize them up.

Soundwave's sound system shrivelled back into silence as he considered. Had he misread the situation? Had he overstepped? It seemed unlikely but even now in peace Megatron could be volatile. Unlike others he could name, he was not one for grovelling so he awaited his fate patiently.

"It was strange. Prime seemed surprised to hear from me so soon." The warlord stepped closer, floor creaking under his weight; Soundwave supposed he was deserving of some punishment if he could miss noise like that even while in the berth. "He thought I would be entertaining myself with the spy he had sent me."

One of his scarred servos crept against Soundwave's back - a place he was loathe to let many touch, a weaker point just out of his view. His lord knew it. The digits stayed gentle but there was a huge potential looming behind it. 

"Do liars prosper here, Soundwave?" asked Megatron, voice soft and calm. 

Jazz, still spread out like a meal beneath him, scoffed. "It's in the name, ain't it? Woulda thought so." 

Oh. There was a quirk at the edge of his master's mouth, that perhaps a mech less acquainted with the warlord might not recognise, but Soundwave could read Megatron across the ship. _ This _ was a game. 

Well Jazz also deserved a comeuppance for messing with Soundwave's communications. 

"No, Lord Megatron," he intoned instead. "I am obedient to your orders." 

"But not above thinking outside the box now and then." Megatron stepped back again, and pointed at the space beside them on the berth. "Lay down, Soundwave."

Separating from Jazz was a small agony, spike slipping from the warm clutch of his valve to the cool air of the room. He made to tuck everything away as he slid onto the berth sheets but a disapproving growl from his leader made him look up. 

"You wanted to frag him," said Megatron, "So you'll frag him until I say you are done." 

He collared the Autobot, one big hand crimping around neck cables, the other wrapping around that trim waist and dragged him across onto Soundwave's lap. Jazz swung a nimble pede out as if to catch Megatron in the belly, but a sharp squeeze of his throat put paid to any rebellion. A heady slick of lubricant and transfluid and oil dripped a steady pattern onto Soundwaves's still sensitive spike, a fresh surge slicking his pelvis when Megatron squeezed his fist again and Jazz' engine revved frantically. 

"I despair," said Megatron, almost conversationally as they watched the Autobot pant. "For all I do to this little slut and he just wriggles and demands more. What an appalling little creature." 

The gesture Jazz made was not Cybertronian but still very readable as uncomplimentary. Megatron merely laughed and slapped a servo against the mech's aft. 

"He's desperate, Soundwave," he rumbled, "Show some mercy on the poor thing and frag him, won't you?" 

Millennia ago, Soundwave had heard a gladiator give a rousing oration, voice a thunderstorm and a blanket all at once. He had gone to war for that voice, for those words, had bled and suffered and starved for them.

He did not need much encouragement from that voice to sink his spike back into the warmth and tightness he was offered this time. 

With a pleased smirk, his lord released their plaything's throat and stepped back a pace to admire his tableau. For his part, Soundwave bucked his spike up ferociously, until the simmering pressure in his pelvis was a-boil and Jazz was panting even without the grip on his throat. He braced palms on Soundwave's chest and bounced down in time to the punishing thrusts, visor swimming with oily interference as he fought to maintain the beat. 

"Come in his valve," murmured Megatron, sultry and soft. "Fill him to the brim, so every time he spreads his legs for his compatriots all he can remember is a Decepticon spike pumping him full." 

Jazz would remember _ Soundwave's _ spike.

He pounded in once, twice more and shuddered with his whole frame as his transfluid reservoirs emptied for the second time, aching and throbbing. Every sensor was that much more sensitive, and for a moment it was nearly painful. But Soundwave didn't dare pull out, not with his master's optics watching so intently. 

"Again," rumbled Megatron. "Soundwave." 

"Let me give ya a servo," said Jazz, voice splitting into chords. He rolled his hips, dancing to some tune that he could he hear; Soundwave could only hear the roar of his own systems as he was ridden expertly. It did more for Jazz than the mech he was fragging, but the weak clench of calipers as he overloaded set Soundwave's wires into paroxysm again. His reservoirs only had a little to pump out but certainly they gave their best. 

"No peace for the wicked," said Megatron when the last sparks had died away. "Keep going." 

Soundwave did. Soundwave braced his pedes on the sheets and fragged the mech, _ fucked _ him, and he did it again and again, to the croon of his master's commands. Until his systems were wailing for fuel and coolant and Jazz was definitely at risk of overclocking and Megatron still loomed, unsatisfied. 

"Once more, Soundwave," he said. "And I shall forgive your poaching from me." 

Oh it was terrible and wonderful at the same time. No longer primed with transfluids and his whole spike aching and numb at the same time, Soundwave knew it was hopeless. Not even playing his servos over the curve of Jazz' ample aft or those perky headlights could encourage more that a few volts into his cables. 

"Struggling?" Megatron heaved his huge frame off the wall he had leant against. "I had thought your stamina better than that." 

If Soundwave ever wanted to get off this berth he would have to think fast. Stilling his thrusts and wincing as his overstressed pistons steamed, he wracked his processors. On his lap, Jazz slumped and whined softly to himself about not being able to use his limbs ever again.

"I request assistance," Soundwave capitulated finally. "Lord Megatron…" 

The grin that spread over his master's thin mouth showed he had made a correct decision. When the mech heaved his huge frame up onto the berth which them the first touch to Soundwave's leg was scalding hot and this hiss of his panela parting and his spike pressurising was audible even about the groans of overclocked systems. "A good choice."

He manoeuvred them expertly - who exactly had the mech done this with before, Soundwave wondered - and slotted himself up tight to Jazz's handsome rump. Soundwave had thought his spike would be granted some leniency, but Megatron's scarred digits braced the base of his length in position even as his own rutted closely. 

Soundwave would have been embarrassed to admit how long it took to realise his master's plan, except it took _ Jazz _ a microsecond longer. 

"This might be overreaching," said Jazz, helm tilted to the side so he could presumably eye when Megatron's spike nudged to his aft port. He cursed at the slow pressure forward, digging digits into one of Soundwave's shoulders. "You're both big mechs and I'm only lil old me."

"You can handle it," rumbled Megatron, bearing his weight further onto Jazz' frame. "You're adaptable after all.' 

From his position, Soundwave's view was admirable. Jazz rocked his helm side to side, apparently unconvinced, but his hips wriggled a tight circle onto Soundwave's spike, every caliper clicking in and out in a sinuous wave . His own transfluid dripped fitfully over Soundwave’s pelvis, driven out by the anticipatory clenching. At the base of his spike, the weight of Megatron's spike easing in and out of the aft port iris was just palpable as a tempting stroke. With every pulse forward, the clench and release seemed to tighten and slacken more, until Soundwave wasn't sure if he was being fragged or tortured. 

Jazz appeared to feel much the same. He slapped a servo onto Megatron's thigh, hard enough to throw up sparks. "Slagger! Do it or don't!" 

Megatron caught the servo before it could come down again for another blow, and shoved Jazz down so his chest scraped up against Soundwave's, pinned with a restraining palm in the centre of his back. The pressure at the base of Soundwave's spike slowly raked up in an inexorable push, and every caliper around his length went into delicate spasms. Jazz' engine choked and spluttered in a glorious cacophony, and more delightfully he raised his voice and wailed.

Soundwave was a broken mech. Perhaps Megatron snarled something - warning for impertinent Autobots to learn their lessons regarding demands maybe - but Soundwave felt understanding of the words was beyond importance. The main delight was the creaking timbre of his master's baritone, Jazz' vents whistling and the thrum of his audio system driven to life by the explosion of charge in his frame. 

His servo on Jazz’ hip was encompassed with another big hand, squeezed tightly and used as a counterpoint to the pull back and thump in. Squeezed between their big spikes, Soundwave could feel every delicate node at the back of Jazz' valve compress under the pressure. His own spike throbbed in time, like a drumbeat, and it occurred maybe he should follow the rhythm.

As Megatron withdrew, the great blunt head of his spike a brutal weight, Soundwave drove his hips up that little more. With Jazz trapped so close to his chest dock there was little more room for him to move, but the response was perfect. Jazz groaned, that spark-clenching and broken noise he had made when Soundwave had overloaded him, and above them both Lord Megatron rumbled a laugh like thunder. 

"How does Prime keep you in hand, spy?" Even Lord Megatron's impassive voice was seething with lust, a slow syrupy snarl that made every one of Soundwave's sensors tingle. “Do your Autobots pin you down and frag you like this? I suspect not...”

Jazz made a noise that could be considered a curse, but his vocaliser appeared capable of little more that yelps and static. Against Soundwave's neck cables, scarred and picked from millenia of war, he panted desperately to cool his helm. Elsewhere Soundwave's vent filters alarmed, the vast quantities of hot mineral laden air blasting from the saboteur’s frame choking his vents. It was far beyond the mech to be an active component now, split open as he was by two big warframes and brimming with such high charge, but he dug sharp dentae into one of Soundwave’s wires and could not be persuaded to let go.

Well if he was happy to be used, then they would oblige him. While Megatron abused that poor aft port with demanding strokes, Soundwave thrust into the fluttering warmth of his valve. The rhythm had been simple but difficult to maintain as the pleasure built and perhaps too soon they were both pounding in at the same time, using the friction from the other to their own benefit. 

Between them, Jazz abruptly reached his peak, vents choking and every cable on his frame lighting up with hot charge. Perhaps his valve and aft clenched and gripped, but the relentless pounding from the warframes on either side would have no resistance and he was carried along with their demanding pace. Further sparks crackled and burnt, feeling the cramped space with the hot scent of ozone and grounding into Soundwave's relays. 

His previous climaxes had numbed his circuitry and depleted his reservoirs, but the constant burning snap of dissipating charge and the working friction was hard to ignore. Above him even his master's legendary stamina appeared to be on the wane; gunmetal grey fingers were bending Jazz' hip plating to the limit and industrial sized engines roared. 

Megatron overloaded with a snarl and a huge burst of electric charge, and Soundwave - ever obedient - followed closely. 

Every joint and piston shivered with the outgoing charge, jarring his lapful of Autobot into a clattering mess. His spike throbbed, dry of any fluids to pump out and he felt every nanoklik of it. Megayron's tanks, in comparison seemed to be overfull, so the slide of charged fluid spilled copiously from the spy's overfull port even before he pulled back. 

Megatron sprawled to the side, bringing Jazz with him to clear Soundwave's lap. His spike collapsed down, with a systems lock informing Soundwave firmly that it would not be coming back out to play for some time. This seemed fair. 

Jazz slumped in the sheets and didn't move for some kliks. It was disconcerting. A quick scan of Jazz' systems showed a need for coolant, and an excess of tranfluids, but little in the way of damage in need of repair. It might take a few breems for him to regain hydraulic pressure enough to stand, but Soundwave was in the same predicament himself. 

Even Lord Megatron seemed disinclined to move, but then again it was _ his _ berthroom. 

"I gotta stop fraggin' Decepticons," said Jazz from his face down position in the pillows. His voice croaked. "I thought Autobot Command was party central, but you lot take the oilcake." 

"Decepticons-" Soundwave started, but a strong servo caught the front of his throat and sharp claws dug in. For a mech with next to no hydraulics Jazz moved very quickly. 

"Say 'Decepticons Superior'," said Jazz, steel in his voice and visor a dark deep blue. "And lose speaking privileges for a vorn. Which mech hacked _ your _ communication system?" 

Soundwave cast a look to Megatron's slouched form but his master merely watched, amusement lighting his field.

"Autobot Jazz," he answered. 

"Which mech then got it up every possible port by two industrial warframes?" 

"Autobot Jazz." 

"Good. And then which mech thought it was an acceptable idea to let two spike-for-processors 'cons make an Autobot sandwich?"

"Autobot Jazz?"

"Correct." Jazz let him go, unlatching digits one by one. He brushed some dried lubricant off one thigh and then sprawled back onto the heap of Megatron' armour, wriggling until he appeared satisfied with his pillow. The warlord grumbled quietly but permitted the transgression into his personal space. "So which mech is superior here?" 

Soundwave knew when he was beaten. "Autobot Jazz: superior," he said. 

His fantasies hadn't gone into the afterglow, but he hadn't imagined it quite like this. Perhaps he had been naive. 

"And don't forget it." Jazz tilted his helm back to look up at Megatron. "I ain't movin', just so ya know . 'Adaptable' or not, my panels feel like they're gonna fall off."

"Understandable," said Megatron. "Astrotrain can take you back tomorrow."

"No way, Astrotrain flies like he don't understand gravity gotta affect some of us. Call and ask for Skyfire. Sounders here will patch you through." 

"I am not a transport controller," snarled Megatron, but there was no fire. Soundwave was bewitched by the back and forth. 

"Nah, you're the mech that gets to benefit off my tight aft, so if ya wanna touch it again…" 

Megatron groaned like a landslide. "There are mechs who would beg for my attention." 

Jazz chuckled. "Yeah, but I bet none of them frag like I do. Jazz superior, right Soundwave?" 

Soundwave nodded instinctively. Megatron grumbled sotto voce but did not disagree. 

"Now come 'ere. I dunno if big bad Decepticons do post-coital snugglin', but after that sorta frag this Autobot is gonna demand some." 

Soundwave had tried disobedience once today. From now on he might stick to following orders for a while. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jazz gets what he's owed, which is to say the biggest pillow the Decepticons have to offer and a call for Skyfire to come collect him the next day. 
> 
> Not only does he have two big scary Decepticons hanging on every twitch of his hips, there's also something to be said for not pissing off the best saboteur either faction has ever encountered. It's something to remember.


End file.
